The Mirror's Stranger

Mirrors reflect the image of self. But what if the image we see isn't the image of who we want to be... or worse, the once great person we were?

Submitted: December 09, 2011

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Submitted: December 09, 2011

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There was a man, a man I did not know
(beside a window that would come and go).
There was a man, a man who did not leave,
Standing dead in his tracks until one Christmas Eve.

“Be gone,” I pleaded to the man.
“From the depths of my tainted mind,
take with you all that you’ve brought –
destruction’s everlasting time.
With each part of me you’ve touched,
Once beautiful red roses with perky thorns
Withered to their black deaths in plaque.”

“Return to me what was rightfully,
oh so beautifully and shamefully mine.
Restore the world to concordance,
Things to the way they once had been.
The now imprisoned soul,
Trapped within the catacombs of your grasp…
Release me to be free,
Like any capricious butterfly swimming through the open sky.”

“Man, you have caused much harm.
For me, you have seized far more than any arm.
Look upon me; see what you’ve done.
Marks and scars –
Stripped of my wit (dark, dry humor but of course)
And natural, effervescent, perfumed air of beauty
That once encircled my every tap against the Earth’s gentle soul.
But now I bleed profusely from within.
Relieve me before it is too late.”

“You have no home here, man.
I must throw you out.
You don’t belong here… not welcome anymore.
The sign on the door telling visitors to come in,
Well, it isn’t for you.
It’s my time to visit me,
Time for you to say your goodbyes.
Realize this. Acknowledge that.”

There was a man, a man I did not know
(beside a window that would come and go).
There was a man, a man who must go on his way.
He wouldn’t leave but was gone by Christmas day.